


A Breakdown in Communications

by Itsagoodthing (itzagoodthing)



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:54:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22377532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itzagoodthing/pseuds/Itsagoodthing
Summary: A year after taking off with the child, Din finds himself in a sticky situation that he's going to need help getting out of.
Comments: 34
Kudos: 192





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> While I have been writing fanfiction for years, this is my first attempt to write for the Star Wars/Mandalorian fandom. I must admit that I don’t really know what I’m doing as I bump along on this uncharted territory. However, I am researching my details to try to keep it as close to canon as I can. That being said, I’m sure somewhere I’m going to miss that mark, and if that happens, I apologize in advance.  
> Secondly, you should know, this fic is nothing more than an excuse for me to beat up on the Mandalorian and then have someone take care of him for a bit. I am fascinated with the show, the characters, and the mythology. I have two OC’s in this story who are born out of my own imagination.  
> This story is complete and will be posted in a series of three chapters.  
> I am pleased with how it turned out, and I hope you will also be. Thank you.

Cara walked beside the Mandalorian, letting him set the pace as they made their way back to the ship. The satchel in his arm squirmed, and then large curious eyes peeked over the brim at her. The child cooed, and its tiny fingers kneaded at the material as it turned to look back at Din. It squawked for his attention.

Focused on his movements, the Mandalorian took a moment before glancing down, “I hear ya, you’re up.” He gave a nod toward the _Crest_ , “We’ll be in flight soon. I’ll get you something to eat then.”

The trace of fur outlining the child’s large green ears ruffled in the breeze as he turned back to Cara, blinking imploringly at her.

“Hey, don’t look at me.” She tossed her head in Din’s direction, saying, “He’s the boss.”

The tiny creature’s ears drooped. It sank below the rim of the satchel with a plop and grumbled.

Cara looked at Din as the _Razor Crest’s_ ramp began to lower. Leaning against the landing gear, he shifted to take the weight off his leg. It was a reminder of how four weeks ago, a perfectly fine day turned sour in a matter of seconds.

On the ever-constant quest to find those who are of the same kind as the child, they’d landed on Batuu for supplies and to refuel. The attack had been instigated by tracker fobs—many tracker fobs, which were carried by many hunters. They held the upper ground for most of the conflict, and in the end, the kid was safe, and they were still alive.

Alive, but not without harm, Cara thought as she rubbed her arm, which had nearly been broken. In fact, she had just recently been freed from the guard designed to restrict her movements. Regardless, her arm was not the cause behind their extended stay on Batuu from what was supposed to be only a quick pit stop.

In battle, the Mandalorian had rushed in, taking on the brunt of the assault, allowing her to keep to the outskirts, and trusting her to protect the child—his child. When the final blaster bolt had fired, Cara held the quivering little one close against her person and waited for Din to walk out of the dust cloud. She hugged the child when he whined and pulled at her armory strap. He seemed to be picking up on her unease.

Patting the little one’s back, Cara stood up and called for the Mandalorian. Silence persisted, and Cara had run into the battle zone. Stepping over dead bounty hunters, she called for him again and squinted to see through the haze.

It was his labored breaths amplified by the helmet’s voice modulator that had drawn her to his position. She’d found him barely conscious and guarding his middle. The leather straps securing the beskar armor had been cut. The armor plate itself, she would come back later to find meters away from where Din had been lying.

In the end, her friend had acquired internal injuries that would need immediate intervention by a healer. The leg that kept their pace frustratingly slow, by Mandalorian standards, suffered a wrenched knee and sprained ligaments that, according to the Healer, would continue to be problematic for a time. Especially, since he shouldn’t be using it any further than to walk across the hut they’d occupied over the last month, let alone a two-hundred-meter walk back to the ship over uneven terrain.

The ramp touched down, and Din pushed himself off the landing gear. His first step turned tricky when the joint nearly gave out on him, and Cara’s hand shot out, grabbing his arm.

“Are you sure you’re ready to leave?” she asked, using a supporting hand as he took a measured step and continued up the incline.

“I’m fine,” came the reply, but then his progress halted halfway up the ramp, and Cara reached out to steady him, saying, “Clearly.”

“No,” Din sighed, waving her off. “I’m fine _.”_ He looked back the way they came and then turned to her, “The blurgg milk. Did you happen to grab it?”

Cara blinked at him, “I thought you had it.”

Din shook his head, and then tipped it in defeat, “We’re going to have to go back.”

He turned to head down the plank, and Cara stepped in front of him, blocking the way, “Hey. You want to go all the way back for blurgg milk?”

Din stopped and looked at her, “No, but I want to hear him whining across eight star systems even less.”

Cara considered his statement. It had merit. Glaring playfully at the child who was peeking at her again, she offloaded the pack she’d been carrying, saying, “You stay. I’ll be back before you can get the ship started up and the preflight checks done.”

Giving her a nod of thanks, Din watched her double-time it back into the city limits. She crossed the field in less than half the time it had taken him, and that was frustrating.

The satchel in his arm wriggled with force and then complained. Din looked down and said, “Yeah, okay. Let’s go find you something to gnaw on while I get the ship online.” The child squealed in delight, and Din grinned at him from behind his mask.

Forcing himself to ignore the nagging fire smoldering behind his knee, Din started back up the ramp to the ship. He was a few steps away from walking inside when blaster fire struck the signet on his shoulder. The shot threw him off balance. He stumbled back into the hull with a grunt as pain flared in his side.

Another shot hit his chest plate, and Din gripped the bottom of the hull to steady himself. Running wasn’t an option for him, so he tossed the satchel up into the cargo area. A startled shriek came from its occupant. Din didn’t have time to watch it land safely as another shot found the edge of his thigh plate, spinning him off the ramp.

He had seconds to prep himself for what he knew would be a hard landing before colliding with the ground. Momentarily shocked, he lay there as his healing injuries flared with renewed pain that he hadn’t experienced in more than a week.

The ground beside him exploded with more blaster fire. Taking a breath, the Mandalorian rolled under the ship. A button on his vambrace closed the hull, securing the vessel against intruders.

“I see you, coward! Have honor and fight!”

Pulling out his blaster, Din froze. He knew that voice. Zel Qimawr was a fellow Mandalorian—a mentor and brother. There could be only one reason that Din could think of that would set his friend out to hunt his blood.

The massacre at the Foundry last year.

Friend or not, it wouldn’t be easy to talk Zel down quick enough to give him a chance to explain. There was hardly anything in the galaxy more deadly than a Mandalorian on a rampage. Even worse was when that rampage was spurred on by the deaths of most of their tribe.

* * *

Cara kept her pace at an easy jog on the way back to the ship. In a net slung over her shoulder, were four canisters of blurgg milk. Keeping time with her stride, they bounced and clanked against each other as she crossed the field.

She was cresting the last soft slope before the landing site when she got a feeling that something was off. A short distance ahead of her sat the ship. Shielding her eyes from the setting suns, Cara scanned the landscape around her. Nothing drew her attention that would imply she needed to be on guard. Aside from some blowing dust caught up in a lazy breeze, nothing moved. Everything was still and quiet.

That was when it clicked. _Everything was quiet._

She should have been hearing the thundering high-pitched whine of the gunship’s thrusters warming up. After sitting for a month, it could have easily been a mechanical issue behind the delay in their startup, but her instincts told her to be on guard for a possible confrontation.

As she got close, the sight of the ship buttoned up tight had her slipping the milk off her shoulder and drawing her weapon. Something was wrong.

Looking around, revealed a new set of footprints on the dusty ground. Scuff marks told of an altercation. She followed them around to the front of the _Crest_ , where she found Din face down in the dirt and another Mandalorian towering over him.

Sharp gaze splitting between friend and foe, Cara took quick aim at the intruder.

“Easy, shock trooper.” Raising his hands, the Mandalorian spoke to her, “I mean you no harm.”

Ignoring the diplomatic greeting, Cara moved in, “Get away from him. Now.”

Hands still in surrender-mode, the Mandalorian obliged her command by taking three steps back. When he retreated far enough for her liking, she crouched down. “What the hell is going on here? You guys out hunting your own kind now?”

“We had business to discuss.”

Keeping eyes on the newcomer, she reached beneath the folds of Din’s cowl, feeling for his pulse, saying, “I should shoot you down where you stand.”

The bounty hunter cocked his head at that, “I have left him alive.”

“Barely,” Cara replied, pulling on Din’s shoulder and rolling him onto his back. Doing so meant she had to use both hands. She briefly considered her options, but if this man knew Din, and left him alive, that meant he didn’t want him dead. From what she knew of the most lethal group in the galaxy, you could take a Mandalorian at their word. Relying on that knowledge, Cara laid her blaster at her side and focused on helping her friend.

Not knowing if Din had divulged his birth name to the Mandalorian standing across from her, Cara leaned in close and rubbed his arm, calling, “Mando. Hey, can you hear me?” He didn’t respond. Fearful of the injuries he had over a year ago, Cara slipped a careful hand beneath his helmet and felt his head. Her hand came away clean. It was a relief.

“My business here is finished,” declared the Mandalorian, and he turned to leave.

“How honorable of you,” Cara sneered as her fingers worked leather straps, loosening them, and removing the beskar armor plates from her motionless friend. His head might not be the cause of his unconsciousness. If it wasn’t, she had a good idea of what was.

The Mandalorian hesitated and half-turned toward her, “My actions require no explanations, but for the reputation of the creed, I will say, your Mandalorian is the reason most of my tribe was massacred. His reckless, careless actions led to the death of many so that he might escape unscathed with something that was not his. It’s for the honor of those that perished that I deliver this justice, for this is the way.”

Pushing Din’s armor aside, Cara looked up sharply, “Listen, pal. It seems you’ve been victim to some shitty, half-assed intel. I’m truly sorry about your loss, but they did not die just so Mando here could escape.” Looking back at what she was doing, she started on the catches to his flak vest. “They perished after helping him escape with a child that was going to be experimented on and then murdered—a baby. Your creed’s newest foundling. He never asked for their help. They just showed up.”

Facing her fully, the aggressor shifted his stance. “A foundling?”

Ignoring the Mandalorian’s shocked tone, she continued her tirade as she started on the buttons to his shirt, “And, tell me, what honor is it that you take in attacking the lame and wounded? Isn’t there something in the Mandalorian book of ethics that frowns on an unfair fight?”

This drew him in a couple of more steps, “Lame?”

Cara gave a half shrug, “Temporarily.” She pushed back his shirt enough to expose his abdomen, “Surely, you were watching us since we exited the city. Don’t tell me you failed to notice the hitch in his step.”

There was a pause.

“A slight limp, perhaps.”

Cara smoothed her palm over the healing incision mark, feeling for heat, and muttered, “It’s only _slight_ when he’s trying to hide it.”

That shook the warrior. He’s known Djarin for close to half a lifetime, and when he wanted to hide an injury from public eyes, he did so convincingly. If the imperfection in Din’s gait was his best effort to do so, then he had grossly underestimated the health of his one-time friend.

Taking a knee beside the shock trooper, he peered over her shoulder and frowned at the line of new pink flesh that ran the length of Djarin’s abdomen. What might have been a well-healing injury, now looked inflamed and angry. Red blotches marked the rest of his torso, showing where the armor was forced against him, some of them already beginning to bruise. That was his doing.

“What happened?” The shock trooper didn’t answer him as she probed Din’s abdomen, frowning in concentration at what she was feeling. Zel looked at her, saying, “Tell me.”

Cara shook her head, “Hunters, looking for the kid, ambushed us last month. Mando was injured, but he held his own and fought them off. He was healing well.” She looked over her shoulder. “Until you showed up.”

She could hear the Mandalorian suppress a sigh and couldn’t quite figure the guy out. He shows up and beats Din half to death, but he seems to care about him at the same time.

Mandalorians are a complex type of people.

Exploring with gentle pressure on a spot that troubled her brought Din back to consciousness with a sharp gasp and flailing arms. Cara leaned over him and took his hand, “Mando. Hey, it’s okay. It’s just me. You’re hurt. Try to stay still, okay?”

Djarin replied by writhing into the dirt with a wet sounding groan.

“Okay. I hear ya, buddy.” Cara holstered her blaster and began to pull Din off the ground. She got an arm under his neck, and the Mandalorian behind her grabbed her, saying, “What are you doing?”

Without stopping, Cara pulled Din against herself and replied, “Your ‘justice’ has worsened his injuries. I need to get him back to the Healer.”

“You’ll never be able to carry him back to the city gates.”

Cara paused and glared up at the Mandalorian, “Watch me.”

She started to rise with him, and the older man grabbed her again, “Stop. My visor shows possible internal bleeding. You sling him over your shoulder, and there’s a good chance you’ll kill him by time you get him there.”

Cara pulled her blaster out again and took aim, “Well, I sure as hell ain’t letting you touch him.”

Zel watched as the shock trooper’s one-arm hold on Din tightened with that affirmation. He sighed, “Look. If you want to save your friend. Open the ship. Let me carry him inside—”

“There is a Healer right here.”

“No Healer is going to start cutting on a Mandalorian that can’t give his consent, and by the look of it—” he gestured at how still Din had again become, “—there’s a good possibility he won’t be awake to give it. I know someone. I trust them, they’re good, and if I tell them to do what is necessary to save his life, they will. No questions asked.”

Cara considered what the Mandalorian had to say, and asked, “How far?”

“Roughly fifteen minutes by ship; another ten by foot.”

“That’s too long.”

“I agree, but not as long as it will take if he doesn’t wake up when you get him to the Healer out here.”

Looking down at her friend, Cara exhaled sharply and quickly weighed her options. Looking back up, she nodded and loosened her hold.

Taking the gesture for what it was, Zel got up and rounded the pair to Djarin’s other side. Kneeling, he began to gather him from the shock trooper. The movement jostled Din, and he woke again with a gasp. His head turned to face Zel, and then he flinched back, muttering, “N-no. Stop.”

The younger Mandalorian fought the arms around him, and Zel adjusted his hold to keep him from falling back to the ground. “Steady, brother. No more harm will come to you by my hand. I give you my word.”

Cara watched Din’s efforts to escape still. A moment later, he relaxed, and she asked him what she could not before, “Mando, what did you do with the child? Where is he?”

“In…the ship.”

Cara smirked, “He’s not going to be happy.”

Din huffed, forcing out, “Probably not,” and then he coughed and held his middle.

“Time to go,” declared Zel. He started to stand with Din in his arms, but a gloved hand to his chest plate stopped him, and Din grunted, “I can walk.” The older Mandalorian hesitated for a moment, but then acquiesced and helped his brother to his feet.

Cara frowned at the restrained sounds of pain being transmitted from beneath the helmet and watched him take four, maybe five shaky steps before his knee gave out, and they both grabbed him as he went down.

“Enough,” was all Zel said and scooped up the injured man into his arms.

“Watch out for his knee,” she said, reaching out to push a series of three buttons on Djarin’s arm. The ramp to the ship started to lower, and she said, “His right one is injured.”

Zel gave her a nod and walked into the cargo area.

Watching him stride straight through the guts of the ship, it was clear to her that he’d been on it before and knew it well. Following behind, she kept an eye out for the child. She knew he would be fine; Din would have made sure of that. The fact that she didn’t see him right off meant that he was hiding.

Entering the _Razor Crest’s_ sleeping quarters, Cara helped lay the Mandalorian down on a cot and then stood back to give the two privacy as they held a quiet and very brief conversation.

After only a few seconds, the older one stood and faced her. He handed her a vile filled with a purple substance and said, “Pain medicine. Give it to him.” And then, with another one of his silent nods they must practice in Mandalorian finishing school, he left them and went to the cockpit.

Cara sat on the edge of the cot, “Hey. You still with me?” Popping open the aid station above the cot, she grabbed the injector.

“Where’s the kid?” Din answered by asking a question of his own, then arched, squirming against the pain.

Cara pulled back on the open flap of his shirt, exposing the shoulder. Loading the vile, she shook her head, “I haven’t seen him yet,” and squeezed the trigger. There was a sharp hiss from the injector as it decompressed and forced the contents into Djarin’s bloodstream.

The effects of the medicine were swift as the tension in Din’s body started to ease after only seconds. Breathing starting to dial down, he looked at her, “…find him.”

Cara smiled and gave his shoulder a strong squeeze. “I’m on it.” She stood, and a bit more tension ebbed away from her friend. She was at the doorway when the intercom crackled, and the Mandalorian spoke from the cockpit.

“Prepare for takeoff.”

Cara pushed a button on the intercom, “Roger that, but don’t engage hyperdrive yet.”

“You have three minutes.”

Pressing two buttons on the panel routed the intercom into speaker mode, “Might need a couple more minutes than that,” she responded as she walked, grabbing a shelving unit as the ship shuddered and lurched as it left the planet.

“Whatever you’re doing, wrap it up.”

“I’m looking for the kid. It won’t take long.”

“The child will be fine. Hyperdrive engaging in ninety seconds.”

Cara looked under all the tarps and then threw them back down, “He’s a baby, okay? I know his hiding spots. Just give me two extra damn minutes.”

“We don’t have extra minutes—thirty seconds.”

“Would you just—” Cara broke off as the ship’s speed died away without warning. Stumbling forward, she cursed as her shoulder caught the corner of a block of carbonite. The lights went out. It was pitch black for a second, and then the emergency lights came on and everything was bathed in a hazy red glow. Rubbing at the sore spot, she narrowed her eyes in the direction of a faint whine.

The intercom crackled, “We’re dead in space. What did you do?”

Parting the curtain below a workbench, Cara grinned, “Uh, that wasn’t me.” Her smile widened when Din’s faint voice floated over the air.

“Wait…for the kid.”

It figures, Cara thought as she lifted the lid to the storage of blankets, that Din would have controls to the ship on his vambrace. He had controls for pretty much everything else on those things. Why not the controls to the bridge too? Closing the lid, she paused and then reached in to grab a couple before moving on.

The Mandalorian above them sighed, “Release the controls.”

“No.”

“Careful with the demands, up there,” Cara couldn’t help goading just a little and opened a cabinet door, “Sounds like you’re flirting with mutiny—there you are, little one!” She pushed aside a stack of bowls and smiled at the kid holding out his arms for her.

“You have the child?”

Holding him close, she glanced up into the cockpit, answering as she passed the ladder, “Affirmative.” And, just like that, the lights, controls, and engines all came back online.

Sitting on the edge of the cot again, Cara placed the child beside Din.

The intercom crackled, and the Mandalorian came over the air again. “Hyperdrive in 5…4…3…”

Cara braced herself against the bottom of the cot above them as Din moved his arm enough for the tiny creature to nestle into him.

“…2…1… Engage.”

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was very nervous before posting to this forum. Thank you, everyone, for being so kind.

Sitting at the foot of Din’s cot, Cara leaned back against the wall. They were eight minutes into their scheduled fifteen-minute trip, and she was getting anxious to land and get him to the Healer. Earlier, after they’d made the jump to hyperspace, Cara had pulled off the Mandalorian’s glove to give her easy access to his pulse. She’d been checking it about once every two minutes and wasn’t liking the results one bit.

Almost as if the child could read her mind, he reached out a hand to her with a soft whine. Smiling, she leaned forward and held his tiny hand between her thumb and index finger, rubbing his little claws. “You’re worried, too. Aren’t you, little one?”

Snuggling into the side of Din’s neck, the babe made a slight whine again and wrapped its claws around her finger. Ears drooped as it looked up at its father, then it turned back, blinking those large dark golden eyes right at her.

“I know, kid. I don’t like his breathing any more than you do. But, let’s just let him rest for now, okay? He’s okay for now.”

Ears dropping, the child looked disappointed. Cara got it; she really did. In the short time that they’ve been in flight, Din’s pulse had steadily increased, and in the last couple of minutes, his breathing had become unsteady. At least the pain medicine seemed to have knocked him out pretty good, and he was able to rest.

Touching her fingers to the inside of his wrist again, she counted. Closing her eyes, she silently willed his heart rate to slow down, just a little. She didn’t ask for much; she knew he was injured, and expecting a normal heartrate would be an impractical expectation. All she wanted was for it to slow down a little bit.

Din’s breathing hitched, and then hitched again, but still, he slept. Time seemed to be moving slower as each minute passed by, making Cara fear that they wouldn’t get him to the Healer in time.

Squeezing her finger, the child called out to her in a quiet, uncertain voice. It seemed she couldn’t have a single worrisome thought about his father without him picking up on it. Rubbing its hand, Cara nodded, “Okay. I hear ya. Only positive thoughts from now on. Okay?” She asked, smiling at it, but her heart sank when its ears drooped lower. It looked at Din, and then back at her. It called to her, louder this time, and unsure of what it needed, she reached out to see if it wanted to be held.

The child shrank back from her, making it clear where it wanted to be. “Okay...” she frowned at the child. “Do you want a drink... are you hungry?” Closing its eyes, it turned away from her, and she got the distinct impression it was frustrated that she didn’t get what it was trying to say. Finally, all out of ideas, she sighed and reached over her friend to rub the child’s head, saying, “I’m worried too, little guy.” The child’s forehead drew together over a frown, and his ears perked a bit as it turned to look up at Din again. He watched him for a moment and then cried out with a long wail.

Cara was startled by the sudden burst of emotion and was reaching out to take it into her arms when Din’s breathing hitched again—hard. Hitched breathing broke straight into harsh, panted breaths, and he woke with a strangled groan. 

“Hey.” Leaning forward, Cara grabbed the hand she’d ungloved earlier and felt for the pulse on his wrist. “Din, what is it?” she asked, hoping to the stars that this was just a pain response and not a very bad breathing problem, but the pulse beneath her fingertips was rapid, and he seemed to be choking on air.

“Can’t…” he shook his head in frustration, “… can’t,” he tried again, gasping and pushed back into the cot, breathing in sputtering, groaning breaths.

“Okay. I gotcha,” she soothed, jumping up. “Gonna raise you up,” she warned and then pulled him forward. She expected the movement to be painful and judging by his sharp response, she wasn’t wrong. “Just a sec, Din. Hang in there, okay?”

Holding him against her, she stacked extra blankets behind him and then eased him back. She watched him breathe and frowned. There was a slight improvement—but it wasn’t enough, not when he was arching back and grabbing at his chest.

Holding either side of his helmet, she leaned in close, “Just focus on breathing. All right? You’re okay—” she reached over him to push a button on a panel on the wall. “—Hey you, up in the cockpit!”

There was a pause of static and then, “Receiving.”

“We’ve got a problem. I need you down here.”

“What is it?”

“Just listen...,” Cara responded, letting Din’s pathetic respirations speak for itself.

There was a three-second lag in response before, “Engaging autopilot.”

Cara didn’t think it possible, but in the amount of time it took for the older Mandalorian to jump down the cockpit ladder and rush to them, Din’s breathing had gotten worse.

The man stood behind them, unmoving, and she said, “His pulse is rapid, his breathing is shit, and nothing I do is making a difference.”

The bounty hunter leaned over her, placed a hand on Djarin’s chest, and then cocked his head. Quiet for another second, he stood back up. “The internal bleeding is putting pressure on his lungs. Without the proper medical equipment to drain it off, there isn’t much we can do.”

Knuckles white with tension, Din’s hand twisted in the cot sheet as he struggled to draw in a strangled breath only half as deep as a few minutes ago.

Cara pried his hand from the material and held it in both of hers. His grip was like a vice, and she spoke comfort to him while wracking her brain on what to do, “I’m right here, Mando. Okay? We’re both right here.”

The little one whimpered as it watched his father, not understanding what was happening, it looked between Cara and Din and his ears drooped as low as she’s ever seen them. Three tiny claws fisted the material at Din’s shoulder and kneaded at it with worry. Blinking up at the terrible sounds of distress permeating the small area, the child mewled and called out.

She looked up at the man beside her, “How long until we get to your Healer?”

“Roughly five minutes until we land and another ten in travel.”

She watched in fear as Djarin’s breathing became shallow, and his head began lolling to the side. The crushing grip on her hand began to ease and, she stressed, “He doesn’t have that much time!”

“I agree,” The Mandalorian behind her spoke with a new thickness to his voice.

The grip in her hand became slack, and she jerked around to face the man behind her. “As great as it is that you agree,” she snarled, “for your sake, you damn well better think of something because this is your fault. Fix him. Or, I promise you, I will take your blaster and shove it so far up—”

The Mandalorian grabbed her shoulder, “Look.”

Turning around, Cara’s gaze combed over her friend, and then she saw the child. He was standing at Din’s side with his hands on his chest. His eyes were closed, and the strain he was under was obvious. Something else that was obvious was the way that Din’s breathing was showing the slightest improvement, and she was more torn about this than anything else she’d ever been up against.

In the end, she knew she didn’t have any other choice than what she knew her friend would depend on her to do. Reaching forward, she gave the child a sad smile and said, “No, little one. You have to stop now.”

“What are you doing?”

She was pulled back before she could touch the child, and her voice turned frosty, “Let go of me.”

Maintaining his hold, the Mandalorian leaned in close over her shoulder. His helmet was inches from the side of her head as his voice floated to her ear, “He’s helping. I can see the fluid receding.”

Cara squared her shoulders and gave her arms a jerk, but there was no real motivation behind her efforts to disengage the man’s hold. There was something about the way he spoke, the way his hushed words hung heavy with guilt and hope, that made her want to explain, as opposed to pummeling him into a storage hatch.

“I know he’s helping,” Cara said, “I’ve seen him do it before. He’s just a child, though; barely more than a baby. The strain on him is too much. If anything happened to him, especially if it happened while he was helping Mando…” She turned and looked at the Mandalorian. Gesturing to Din, she said, “He’d never get over it.”

“Your Mandalorian took in this foundling. For all intents and purposes, that makes him the child’s father. That means it is his job to put the welfare of the child first, above anything else. Tell me, shock trooper, what is the child’s welfare like without his Mandalorian there to protect him against every bounty hunter in the galaxy out there gunning for him?”

Looking back at the child who trembled rocking side to side, Cara was without words. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes, and she furiously blinked them away. “Okay,” nodding, she said, “Okay, but only for another few seconds… until he’s well enough to make it to the Healer. Then I pull the child away and tend to him.” She looked at the Mandalorian, “That’s the compromise.”

* * *

Cara cradled the sleeping child in her arm as she reached out to check the Mandalorian’s pulse. It was still elevated, but so much better than a few minutes ago when he couldn’t breathe. Din hadn’t woke since the child had relieved enough pressure on his lungs to make it to the Healer. She hoped it was a combination of being drained and the effects of the pain medicine that kept him under, and not the blood that she knew continued to leak.

They’d just landed a little while ago, and the other man had left to fetch a hover cart. Looking down at the bundle in her arm, Cara stroked its wrinkled forehead, just about the only part not swaddled in a blanket aside from its closed eyes. Laying the child next to its father’s side, she peeled back the blanket covering the Mandalorian and closed his shirt and flak vest, preparing him for the short trip they still had to take to the Healer. Listening to the cold winds pounding against the ship, she covered him with the blanket again and then went to get more.

Abafar.

Cara had never been to this planet before, but she’d heard the ship’s heaters continue to kick on. That is a normal occurrence in deep space, where temperatures plummet to minus 450 degrees Fahrenheit, but they generally don’t run as much once they break through a planet’s atmosphere. This place, though… Cara looked out a porthole.

It was a sand planet, and lucky them, there was currently a raging storm going on outside. The winds whipped and howled around the ship, throwing waves of sand at it from all sides with the sound of a thousand razor claws scratching at the steel.

Cara left Din and went down the narrow passageway to her equally small sleeping alcove and pulled out her long coat, sand scarf, goggles, and gloves.

After Din was past the worst of it, and before the Mandalorian went back to the cockpit, she’d asked about the planet’s temperament and was told, “Temperatures near freezing during the day, below freezing at night, and sandstorms were common.”

“Sandstorms... not snow?” she’d replied.

The older man had shaken his head, saying, “There is virtually no water vapor in the atmosphere on Abafar. There is never anything in the wind, except for sand.”

Cara let her goggles hang from her neck, grabbed her scarf, and looked out the window above her bunk. All she could see was a blank wall of sand. It looked like hell out there, and that was a comfort because if they came all the way to this God-forsaken planet for a Healer, they must really be worth it.

She left her quarters and went back to check on the child. Like Din, it hadn’t woken since its attempt to heal its father. Peeling the blanket back just a little, she watched it. It seemed to sleep almost as deeply as the Mandalorian, and she wondered if even in its sleep, it was still connected with Din, continuing to help him until they could get him to the Healer.

Cara was beginning to wonder if the other man out scouting for a hover cart managed to get lost in the sand, despite the guidance tech she knew was equipped in his helmet. Then, the cargo bay opened with a hiss, and all the sounds of the sandstorm billowed inside.

The ramp lowered and the Mandalorian entered the ship.

She stood as he approached, “What took so long?”

The man stopped in front of her, “There is a great demand for drone-powered carts when visibility is zero. I had to do some—” he paused “—negotiating.”

Cara raised an eyebrow. She’s seen the way Djarin can negotiate and had an idea of how the terms of this one had been laid out. Nodding, she said, “He still hasn’t woken. I laid out a blanket,” she gestured at the floor, “to use as a makeshift stretcher. It’ll be more comfortable for him than being carried again.”

The Mandalorian approved, saying, “Good idea. I’ll take him at the head; you at his feet.”

Cara moved the child from Din’s side, shushing him as his forehead frowned the slightest bit in displeasure, and laid him out of the way. Hooking an arm under his good knee, she fisted a handful of his pant material by the opposite thigh. On the Mandalorian’s mark, they lifted.

She half expected Din to wake or at least come around a little bit from the movement, but he remained quiet and motionless. They moved as one unit, precise and gentle while laying him out on the blanket she’d prepared on the floor.

The Mandalorian had Din leaned back against his arm, keeping him elevated, as Cara worked on bundling him up with extra blankets, and she asked, “Can you do a health assessment with your visor?”

He looked at her, “No.”

“Then how did you know about the internal bleeding?”

“I used a heat signature setting. His abdomen, and later his chest, showed pooling warmth where it didn’t belong.”

“And now?”

“Not as much, but still problematic.”

Mouth turning down in discontent, Cara nodded.

Taking the child, she laid it close to Din’s neck, tucking the blankets around them both, and then wrapped the sand scarf around her head and face. Putting on her goggles, she gave the Mandalorian a nod, and then they were each taking a corner of the blanket under Din, lifting it with care. She continued to watch him for any movement as they walked him out into the storm, but he remained blissfully unaware of what was happening.

Even with all of her gear, with every part of her exposed skin covered, the wind was still frigid, blowing hard enough that she could feel the sting of the driving sand pelting against her scarf, regardless of the steel threads woven into the fabric. She trusted the Mandalorian to guide the way and followed along by feel on which way the blanket pulled her. He wasn’t exaggerating when he’d said visibility was zero. She wouldn’t be able to recognize her own hand if it was an inch in front of her face.

She could only tell that they had reached the cart because the tension on the blanket went slack. The Mandalorian began shouting instructions over the howling wind, and she had to strain to hear him. Even then, she was lucky to pick up every few words, but it was enough for her to string together what he was saying.

“I’ll go up first!” He hollered loud and slow over the wind. “We’ll go easy; when you feel the cart on your shin, it’s an eighteen-inch gap off the ground!”

“Got it!” Cara shouted back. She felt the blanket shift against her grip, and she pictured the Mandalorian turning to take a backward step up onto the cart. There was another slight tug as he stepped up, and then the blanket pulled her forward again. She walked a few steps forward before her leg bumped the wooden surface and she shouted, “Hold up!”

She planted her foot on the bed of the cart and then said, “Go!” The blanket pulled again as she pushed off the ground, and she stepped up onto the cart. She was pulled along a little further; then, she heard him yell again, “Lay him down!”

They did, but thanks to not being able to see a damn thing, not as uniform as when they lifted him from the cot in the ship. Cara could feel Din move the slightest bit as she felt along his legs and arms, making her way to his head.

She got to his shoulders and then bumped into the older Mandalorian who shouted, “The cart has no walls—nothing to lean him up against. I should walk point. Nasty things come out in the sand when the prey can’t see.”

Because she knew he would see it with his visor, Cara nodded and gestured toward herself, shouting, “Give him to me.” Not waiting for a response, she felt along the floor of the cart as she sat down and was grateful for his guiding grip on her arm. Visibility was so unbelievably poor she might as well have been wearing a blindfold instead of sand goggles.

She figured she was in position when the older man put a hand against her back, and then Din’s weight was slowly laid against her. The wounded Mandalorian’s head shifted, and the top of his helmet brushed against her jaw. She tipped her head close to the side of his helmet, “Hang in there, Mando. Help is close.”

The cart moved, and she felt Din flinch. Cara wrapped her arms around him, holding him steady. The droid powering the cart made chirping noises, and Din jolted fully awake. He went rigid in her arms and she could tell he was going for the blaster usually strapped to his leg. She tightened her hold and spoke against the side of his helmet again, “Din, easy! It’s okay.”

“Cara,” Breathing fast, he arched back against her, “Droids…”

“No, Mando. It’s just a cart droid. We’re okay.”

He stilled, but she could tell he was still guarded, and most likely confused. He’d been out of it for most of the trip and now he was outside and the environment around him had radically changed. She knew how easily battle fatigue and pain medication could screw with a person’s perception.

Again, she tried to get through to him, “Hey, c’mon, relax. Everything’s okay.” She squeezed his arm, and a moment later, she felt him begin to ease back against her. “There ya go. Everything’s okay. We’re taking you to some kick-ass Healer. You’re going to be fine. Just try to relax.”

As he rested against her, she could tell by his breathing that he was still awake, but she had no idea how lucid he was. His head lolled with the cart’s slight movements, and then he surprised her by speaking. She barely caught the sound of his voice and leaned in, asking, “What?”

He had to take a breath before forcing out, “Where?”

“Abafar,” she shouted, but he rocked his head against her collarbone in response. That’s not what he meant. She leaned down again, “The kid?”

“Yes.”

Part of her was a little surprised he hadn’t noticed the lump huddled into his neck. Then again, he and the kid both were bundled in blankets, not to mention she could tell it was a struggle for him just to stay with her. She felt her way over his chest until it found the child’s back. Reaching under the blankets, she took his hand and laid it over the child, shouting, “Right here, and, it’s okay too—sleeping.”

That must have been enough to calm his nerves because she felt his breathing relax as he became heavy in her arms.

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

“Yes, yes, yes. Come in and welcome. Bring him in, bring him in.”

Cara couldn’t see the person holding the door open for them. Stepping inside, her goggles instantly fogged over due to the drastic climate difference. Outside, the storm still raged with temperatures dropping fast now that night had fallen. Inside the hut, everything felt warm and cozy thanks to an inviting fire she could make out across the room.

Squinting through the condensation on her tinted goggles, she was glad that at least one of them could see. She was starting to think about the perks of getting herself a supped-up visor for herself, when the Healer said, “Yes, yes, yes, right this way. Right here, yes, yes, lay him right here.”

Like before, she allowed the pull of the blanket to direct her way until she could set Din down. Cara could make out enough of the short table to gauge its distance and followed the descent set by the Mandalorian holding the other end of the blanket.

“Good, good, yes.” Cara heard the Healer speak as she unwrapped her scarf and pulled off her goggles, and then she smiled. Trotting around Din was an elderly Sullustan.

Standing at approximately three feet high, the humanoid creature scuttled up and down the length of the injured Mandalorian, muttering and nodding to himself. If she was surprised to see that the healer was a Sullustan, she was doubly surprised to hear him speaking Basic.

Enormous black eyes closed as he touched the blankets covering Din. His large ears wiggling slightly, he looked back up with an inhale, muttering, “Yes, yes, yes…” Apparently, his favorite phrase, and then looked at the Mandalorian supporting Din, saying, “Let’s begin.”

Seeing as how she had barely noticed Djarin move since the quirky little Healer had been roaming around him, Cara was relatively certain that he had dropped back off on them again. Stepping forward, she squeezed his arm to bring him around before trying to take the child from him. When he didn’t respond, she pulled the blankets back and tried again, “Mando, hey guy…” Still, he didn’t respond until she gently pulled his hand away from the child’s back and began to take it from him.

Waking with a flinch, he grabbed her arm so fast anyone else would never have guessed how sick he was. Stopping to make eye contact, Cara spoke with an easy-going calmness, “It’s okay, Mando—just me. Give me the little one and let the Healer work on you.”

Din relaxed with a sigh, and the grip on her arm fell away. “That’s it,” she spoke to both him and the child.

“There we go…” she cooed at the babe, smiling, and fixing the blanket around him, “I’ve got you, you little womp rat.”

“Yes, yes, yes; good,” the Healer muttered, to them—or himself, Cara wasn’t sure—as he wiped clean hands on a towel, and then said, “You must lay him down, Mandalorian.”

“Wait—” Cara stepped around the table toward the Healer, “You can’t.” The little creature looked up at her with patient curiosity, and she said, “That is… his breathing. He struggles too much to breathe when he lays flat.”

The Healer touched her arm. She was startled as a sensation of ease spread from her arm to the mass of tangled nerves in her chest.

He’s an empath, thought Cara with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Nodding at her, he smiled, “Yes, yes. A struggle is good for him. Comfort hides the trouble, but a struggle reveals the trouble so we may _fix_ the trouble.” Patting her arm, the dewflaps around his mouth turned up into a smile and he addressed the older Mandalorian again, “Yes, yes, now. Lay him down.”

The care the Mandalorian took with the injured man in his arms was plain to see. Regardless, Din still sucked in a gasp from the shift in position, and Cara felt her brow pull together in concern. The child in her arms squirmed and whined, and she was sure it could feel its father’s suffering. Shushing the babe, she whispered sweet things while swaying and patting its back.

Pulling back the blankets, the Healer ran a hand along the length of Djarin as he walked around him, rounded the table at his feet, and then started up the other side.

Being laid in the supine position was having a swift and damaging impact on Din’s breathing. His chest heaved as his body worked to draw in more air than his injuries would allow. It sounded like he was suffocating. Hating that she was powerless to help, she grabbed his hand and squeezed as he squirmed on the table, barely sucking in enough oxygen to stay conscious. Looking at him, Cara gave him a determined nod that told him he was getting through this.

The Healer was making his way back up the length of the injured Mandalorian when his hand brushed along the side of his bad knee, and he stopped. Turning, he placed two hands on the joint for only a moment, then nodded to himself with a grunt and kept walking. He stopped at Din’s middle and began pulling away his clothes to expose his abdomen.

A sharp clicking of his tongue told of his disapproval as the marks of injury were examined, telling them, “The damage is not simple, as his armor had both prevented and inflicted harm.”

Cara frowned as a stubby finger traced around a portion of one of the bruises. She recognized a partial shape of the armor Din wore. Her eyes snapped to the Mandalorian standing across from her. His helmet raised to meet her eyes, and she fixed him with a smoldering glare.

She knew the fight was spurred on by false information. She knew he probably felt like a steaming pile of complete crap about all of this, but she couldn’t help to feel a certain level of fury over it. Din was injured by the force of his own armor being smashed against his flesh. It would never have been a problem if he hadn’t been injured to begin with. But he had, and this foolish brute had exasperated those injuries without just cause. A choked gasp came from her friend, and she ended the silent stare down with the black-out visor.

The Healer shuffled around to the other side, and Cara bounced the child in her arm, watching the short creature as he started mapping Djarin’s injuries with his small fingers. Fluttering over the exposed abdomen, surprisingly nimble digits pressed and palpitated. Every flinch, every groan from Din, would receive a nod of agreement and words of encouragement from the humanoid.

“Yes, yes, yes. I see, dear boy,” nodded the Healer for the third time as Din’s reactions became consistently more intense. Then, he hit a spot that caused Din to jump and holler in pain.

“That’s the ticket!” shouted the Healer as Din gasped and groaned in front of him. Nodding to himself, he said again, “Yes, yes, yes, that’s the ticket, right there.”

Still asleep, the child mewled in distress. Rubbing its back, Cara swayed side to side and hummed a tune she didn’t know but had heard often over the last year. It may not have been his father doing the humming this time, but it was his father’s song and it still worked to comfort the babe.

“Let’s get to work.” The Healer proclaimed, and Cara looked up as the small creature gave Din an injection, and just like that, the man went from groaning and writhing to going still and silent. The tension in the room bottomed out and the swift shift in the atmosphere made her ears ring. Then, the baby in her arms sighed deep and contented, and she knew Din was in pain no longer.

* * *

Neither Zel nor Cara left the room as the Healer worked. From what little knowledge she had of open medical procedures, this one seemed to be going well. Din’s breathing improved almost immediately as the Healer first suctioned off the excess blood and fluid that had kept his lungs from expanding. Then, with a little help from Zel, he stopped whatever bleeding there was before poking around to check other things that he had a “feeling” needed to be explored. Every so often, Cara would walk up and rest her fingers on Din’s wrist to satisfy both herself and the babe in her arms, and it came back steady every time.

Leaning against the wall beside the Mandalorian, Cara watched silently as the Sullustan talked aloud to himself as he worked. He seemed very pleased with his progress, even going as far as to compliment himself at one point—and then thanked himself in return.

Raising an eyebrow, Cara gave the Mandalorian a quizzical smirk.

The man in armor stood there stoically for a moment before saying, “He’s… alone, much of the time.”

“Okay,” Cara said, smiling. “Hey, as long as he does a good job, he can have as many conversations with himself as he wants.”

“Indeed.”

Waddling over toward the pair of warriors holding up the wall to his hut, the short creature wiped his hands on a towel and smiled up at them. “My work is finished. The Mandalorian will heal and recover.”

With a hand across his breastplate, the man beside her bowed in response, “I am forever in your debt.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” the Sullustan smiled, “As still am I in yours, old friend.” He patted the Mandalorian’s arm.

Turning to Cara, the Healer gestured for the child. She turned the child away, and he said, “Come, come now. Give him to old Dwilluu. I’ll hold him. You and Mando here go move that young warrior off the hard table and over to there, where he can rest.” Cara followed the stubby finger pointing toward a dark corner of the hut that had been padded down with a pile of blankets.

Sighing, she looked at the child and then down to the Healer who beckoned her forward with his familiar sentiments, “Yes, yes, yes. Come, come, little one. Come here and see Uncle Dwilluu.” Receiving the sleeping bundle, he smiled as he turned away to sit in a rocking chair by the hearth. Being an empath, Cara had an idea he was conversing with the child as he rocked and spoke in soothing tones.

It only took Cara and Zel a few steps away from the table to reach the pallet of blankets. Taking a knee beside Din, she placed her hand over his chest and felt his lungs fully expand with each relaxed breath. The bandage covering his stomach was only half as wide as the one after the procedure he had a month ago. Reaching for Din’s pulse once again, she looked up at the Mandalorian standing over them and smiled, nodding at the strong thrum beneath her fingers.

She received a steady nod in return.

Din shifted on the blankets, and she pulled a couple of extra ones over him, “If he’s going to be coming around, I’d better go fetch the child before he sees a stranger has him.” The Mandalorian gave her a hand up from the floor, and she grinned, “Otherwise, he’ll have me cleaning the fuel intakes for a month.”

A sound of amusement came from behind the helmet, and The Mandalorian asked, “Only a month?”

Cara was shocked at the dry humor the warrior sent her way, and then her grin spread. She pointed at him, saying, “You’re probably right. Best not push it,” and headed toward the pair in the rocking chair.

* * *

Consciousness came back to Din slowly. His senses told him he was not in a familiar place; his instincts told him he needed to get up and figure out what was going on, but his body was too heavy to move. Hushed conversations floated around him, moving near and far, like waves in a sea. He could only catch a few words, but the voices he recognized.

Zel and Cara were both near. It confused him at first, how they might know each other but then he moved just right, and a muted spike of pain spread through his stomach. Then, memories over the last few hours came tumbling back into his mind.

From what he could tell, the order was a little mixed up but he remembered Cara being there when he couldn’t breathe; he remembered the pain he went through at the hands of the Healer; he remembered asking about the child during the sandstorm, and he remembered the fight between him and Zel. What he didn’t know was how the two deadly warriors weren’t tearing into each other, considering the terms under how they met.

He didn’t have much time left to think about that as the pull of sleep started to drag him back under. He tried to fight it, but the pull was much stronger than the energy he had to push back against it, and he drifted off again.

The next time the comforting darkness parted, it was easier to surface, and he could tell this time he wouldn’t be sucked back under without his consent. Opening his eyes, Din had to blink to bring everything into focus. Looking around, he didn’t recognize the small clay hut, and he didn’t know where he was.

Turning his head, he saw a hearth with a glowing fire inside. Beside it asleep in a rocking chair was the Healer, the speckled bits of his memory supplied that piece of information, at least. A movement against his leg had him looking down to find Cara and the child curled up together, asleep on the blankets near his feet.

Wanting to sit up so he could see the rest of the place, he began to push himself forward when a gloved hand landed on his chest. “Easy, Din Djarin, you are wounded.”

“Zel,” Din spoke. He moved again to sit up, and Zel helped him to lean back against the wall. He knew the movements would hurt, but only experienced a fraction of what he expected to come. Looking down at his stomach, he placed a hand over the Bacta pouch covering the wound.

Bacta was notoriously difficult to come by, and his gaze snapped up to Zel, who nodded in confirmation, “It was mine.”

“I would have healed; you should have kept it.”

“Yeah, well,” Zel sighed, “I guess you could say I owed it to you.”

Then it was Din’s turn to sigh. “Zel—”

The older Mandalorian held up a hand, “For over a decade, I drilled into your head the importance for logic and understanding over action. Today, I became a hypocrite to these teachings. Fueled on by grief and spotty intel, I allowed my emotions to drive my actions. Instead of finding answers through logic and understanding, I ran with the first piece of information that sparked my need to deliver justice for those that we lost.”

A feeling of remorse sat heavy upon his heart, and Din lowered his gaze.

Ducking down to look at him, Zel said, “That, Din Djarin, is _not_ the way. I am ashamed for attacking you without allowing you to tell me what had happened, and, for dragging you into a battle when you were already significantly injured.” 

Din looked up at his mentor, “You couldn’t have known.”

Zel dropped his hand from Din’s shoulder and sat back, “The past is usually viewed in tighter focus than the present.” He was quiet then said, “I think I did know you were injured, but I was blinded by anger and didn’t acknowledge it as an honorable warrior should have.”

Glancing down at the child sleeping in Cara’s arms, Din sighed, “The rumors are true. It is my fault they perished, Zel. The justice you delivered was right and warranted.”

The older warrior tilted his head, “How do you figure?”

Feeling tired, Din rested his head against the wall and thought about events from over a year ago. “I delivered the child to the client before fully thinking it through. I knew better; I knew I wouldn’t be able to leave him there, but I ignored my gut and delivered him and collected the reward. If I had just stayed away—if I had just used the logic and understanding you taught me, I would have never had to steal him back from the client, the tribe would have never helped me escape with him, and they wouldn’t have died in the aftermath of my actions.” Din's voice became hazy over those last few words, and he smacked the back of his helmet against the wall in anger.

Zel shot a hand behind his head and gripped his arm, “Tell me, Din Djarin, what is most important to the Mandalorian? What must _always_ be of the highest importance, above anything else?”

Din closed his eyes, “The foundlings.”

“Yes. They are the future.” It was quiet, and then Zel said, “I hear from the shock trooper that you did not ask for help escaping from Nevarro.”

“That is correct.”

Zel nodded, “Then you have even less a burden to carry on your shoulders. It was right for the tribe to come to your aid so that you could remove the foundling from danger, for this is the way.”

Looking at Zel, Din nodded, “This is the way.”

“Besides,” Zel scooped up the child who was awake and tumbling over Cara’s arm on a quest to get to Din. Zel ran a gloved finger along its ear and then handed him over, saying, “I’ve seen what this little one can do. Our tribe did not die in battle so much for your rescue of the child, as it was over madness that the child got away. Even if you had never returned to Nevarro with the babe, word would have gotten around that you had him and who your connections were, and the enemy would have come after the tribe anyway.”

Din looked down at the foundling sitting in his lap, and then looked up at Zel again. His brow furrowed, “What do you mean, you’ve seen what it can do?”

“You were dying, Din, and the child saved you. Abilities like that in a creature still so young will be sought after by the highest-ranking powers in all the galaxy.”

“He saved me?” Zel nodded, and Din felt his heart clench as he shot a look down at Cara.

“Don’t blame the girl, Djarin. She tried to stop the child, but I talked her out of it. Direct your anger at me, if anyone.”

Din looked down at his child. Placing a hand on its head, he looked back at Zel. Forcing himself to keep his emotions in check, his voice came out steady and low, “It was not your place to make that call. I am his _buir_. I decide what is best for him.”

“Then how could you make such a foolish demand, as not allowing the child to help you if there is no other hope for survival?”

His blood heated and burned up his neck as he pushed himself up straighter, “By the same token, how can you make such judgements without seeing what it does to the child when he uses his abilities? The first time, he slept for days before recovering enough, even to open his eyes. He doesn’t understand the limits of how far he can exert himself without taking it too far. I won’t risk him killing himself to save me.”

“You’re allowing your emotions to cloud your judgement. Did you not hear me say even the highest-ranking powers in the galaxy will be looking for this child? The bounty hunters will never stop coming. You don’t want the child to wear itself out by saving you, but you are the only one who can save the child from what seeks to devour it. For, in all the galaxy, there is no greater, fiercer guardian over a child’s life, than a father.”

Din looked down at the child chewing on one of the open catches to his flak vest. Looking up at him, the babe reached up to him with a gurgling coo. Smiling, Din took his tiny hand in his and shook it gently.

Zel placed a hand on the child’s head, saying, “In order for the child to live, Din Djarin, you must live. This is the way.”

Din exhaled deeply, then looked up and said, “This is the way.”

His mentor nodded and clapped him on the arm, “The storm will let up by daybreak. We’ll head out then if you can.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Good. Until then,” Zel slipped a hand behind his back, “lay down and rest. You’re going to need it if you’re to keep up with a little one.”

Accepting the help, it was a relief to lay back down. Thanks to the Bacta patch, his recovery would be pretty much on par to where he was when the day started, but the fatigue from it all was keeping him thoroughly drained of energy.

Bringing the child up to his chest, Din pulled the blanket over them both. He looked at the babe peeking out at him from under the covers and watched as he explored and played with the flap on the breast pocket of his vest.

Shaking his head, Din asked, “What did you think you were doing, you sly little troublemaker? Are you trying to even the score? I save you—you save me?” Din smiled to himself, with a sound of contemplation, “Seeing as we both seem to attract trouble, maybe we should start keeping score, hm?”

Arm plunged to the bottom of Din’s pocket, the kid watched the material on the outside shift as he moved his little hand around inside. He seemed completely fascinated by how he changed the shape of the material and caused it to bulge. Wide-eyed as it talked to itself, the child smacked at its own hand with its free one, grabbing and pulling at it from the outside of the pocket.

Watching the game that the babe continued to play with itself, a grin crept on Din’s face, and then he snatched the child’s hands in one of his own with a playful growl. The child let loose with a piercing shriek born of both fright and delight, then looked up at Din and started laughing.

“Shh,” Din responded, chuckling. He looked down at Cara, who was still dead to the world—or at least pretending to be, and told his kid, “You’re going to get us into trouble.”

Smiling still, the babe pulled its hands free and then, with a yawn, rubbed his little face on Din’s chest. Curling-up on him, the child wrapped a hand around his thumb and then drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I was originally going to wrap this story up in 3 chapters, but it just wasn't ready to end by that point. So, now you get one more chapter. :) Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Din was standing in someone’s room, and it was dark. The half-moon’s dusty light brightened the window’s covering enough to see the size of the glass behind but not bright enough to seep into the room. He was surrounded by shadows. To his right, there was a bed, against the wall to his left a chest of drawers. Nothing else called for his attention. Turning, he left the room and went into the hallway.

The light here was worse, and he considered the lamp on his helmet, but then, he had a feeling that blending into the darkness was best. He looked to his right and then to his left. The hallway was long. To the right lay the entrance to a sitting room, to his left were two other rooms. The Mandalorian turned left.

Standing at the end of the hallway, he paused in the middle between the two rooms. The one on his right was on the other end of the house, where the soft moonlight could not reach. It was darker than the others. Looking into the darkness of that room, he felt a cold emptiness. It seemed to reach for him from behind the threshold, causing his breath to catch, and his heartbeat skip. He looked into that darkness, searching, and then turned left to enter the other room.

It was another bedroom, a corner room at the end of the house. Larger than the first one, there were two windows, one on the south wall and one on the west. Both had the same window covering as the first room with the same dim moonlight pushing against it. There was a bed against the west window, and as he walked closer, he could see his child asleep beneath the covers.

Standing at the foot of the bed, he watched the child sleep. Laying on its back, it was still as it breathed in deep breaths of relaxed slumber. Din felt like he needed to wake the child. He didn’t like this place. Something was nagging at his heart to get the kid and get out of there, but he couldn’t leave yet. He needed to explore and reveal the threat—to eliminate the threat before they could move on.

The Mandalorian stood and watched his son for a moment longer. He blinked, and then he was looking at the moonlit window in the first bedroom again. Startled, he turned around, checking the darkness behind him, and then turned back to the window. He wanted to go to the window, felt the need to look at it.

Blocking his way, taking up floor space in the middle of the room was an unidentifiable mass. The light in the room was too dim. It drifted just past the lone window and then faded into black at the floor. There was just enough of it to give the mound in the middle the outline of its shape, but nothing more.

Moving closer to the dark mass, he touched the side of his helmet. The light flickered briefly and then went out. He touched the lamp again, but his finger couldn’t find the switch. When it did, he pressed it, and it did nothing.

A dreadful presence swirled in the darkness at his feet. He didn’t see it, couldn’t identify it other than the oily sensation of malice emanating from it. The Mandalorian’s adrenaline spiked, making his heart pound. Breathing quickening, his pupils dilated behind the black of his visor as his muscles tensed. His instincts were preparing his body for a battle with something he could only feel. He reached again for the light on his helmet but then decided against it. Something told him not to. Something was telling him to leave the room.

Stepping back out into the hallway, the Mandalorian looked back to the room where the child slept. Then, for a reason he didn’t understand, he turned the opposite direction and walked into the sitting room. Light spilled into the small space from the kitchen beyond, and Din walked toward it.

He stopped short in the entryway to the kitchen. It was an unexpected relief to find Cara sitting at the table. He had been alone in the house—just him and the sleeping child, but at the same time, a part of him had known she’d been there also.

“Cara,” Din spoke, taking long strides into the room. She looked up at him but didn’t say anything. “I think…” he trailed off, unsure of what he needed to say. “We should go. It’s not safe here.”

Turning away from the book in front of her, she studied him, asking, “What do you mean?”

He stepped closer, palms pressed against the table as he leaned in. Speaking low, he said, “Something is here. I’m not sure what—something bad. It feels…” he glanced over his shoulder at the creeping darkness in the hallway, “I think it wants the child.”

“Well,” Cara stood. “Let’s go check it out.” Winking at him, she grabbed the rifle off the table and walked out of the room.

“Cara, wait,” Din said, following her. He didn’t get a chance to tell her about what he’d felt in the darkness. “Wait!” he called, taking a few jogging steps through the sitting room. He walked into the hallway just in time to see her go into the room at the end of the hall on the right. The room he didn’t go in yet.

“Cara—" Something grabbed at his ankle, and he yanked his foot away. “Cara!” He called again, but she didn’t answer. The house had gone silent. The only thing he could hear was his own harsh breaths. Another grip landed on the same ankle, and he pulled his foot away again. He walked a few steps further into the hallway, looking into the dark room. Something snatched his ankle, this time gripping hard enough to keep him from shaking it off.

He couldn’t move.

He couldn’t protect her or the child.

Looking into the darkness, he struggled, trying to wrench his leg free and screamed, “CARA!”

* * *

“Hey!”

Hands gripped his arms, and Din startled awake with a holler that was hoarse and raw. Bolting forward, another set of hands land on his shoulders, stopping the motion as his body sucked in a deep breath of air. Halfway sitting up with Cara and Zel holding him in place, Cara told him, “It was a dream. Okay—just a dream.” They coaxed him to lay down and, conceding, Din sank back against the blankets.

A hand settled over his chest as he closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath. “Kriff, Mando, your heart is pounding like it’s trying to punch its way out. Easy; it was only a dream.”

“No, no, dear girl, it was not.” The Healer said as he stepped between Cara and Zel. His hand landed on top of the one Cara had over his heart. Din watched him close his eyes, and then he could feel a soothing warmth spread from that central point on his chest. The warmth radiated throughout his body, relaxing his muscles, settling his hammering heart and calming his breaths. “Yes, yes, yes,” the Healer said, pulling his hand away, “More than just a dream.”

Taking a shuffling step to the side, he hooked a crate with his cane and dragged it over to sit beside Din. He eased himself onto the crate with a groan that spoke of old bones and tired joints. Then, he looked at Din, saying, “Tell Dwilluu about the dream. I will tell you what was dream, and what was more than dream.”

Pushing himself up, Din leaned back against the wall. His eyes sought out the child, and he relaxed when he found him sitting by the fire and playing with what looked like a bag of buttons. He looked at Cara, where she sat by his leg and then over to Zel who leaned on the edge of the short table with arms folded across his chest. He looked over at the Healer who was looking back at him with patient reassurance. Din took a moment to get his thoughts in order. Then, he told them.

He told them about the dark rooms; about the sleeping child; about an evil he could feel but not see; about Cara not being there, but knowing she was there all the same; and about her disappearing into the room he didn’t go in, and about the thing that kept grabbing his leg.

Sometime during the recap, the kid had toddled over to Din with his bag of buttons and had dumped them out onto his lap. Clambering over the side of his leg, the kid had plopped down and started handing him carefully selected buttons. Now, as the Healer took a moment to ponder on his dream, the child was prying at Din’s hand that held all the buttons. With a very serious demeanor, the babe spoke to himself as he one-by-one took the buttons from Din’s hand and placed them back into the bag. 

Taking a deep breath, the Healer looked at Din and then looked down at the button-sorting child in his lap. He spoke, “Yes, yes, yes. The child has a great strength I’ve not experienced in another in all my long years. It is the power from this strength that will draw others out to seek it for their own benefit. You and the child have a connection, Mandalorian, and it continues to grow stronger every day. Through this connection, you experienced the evil that looks for the child. That was the darkness that you spoke of. That was not a dream.”

“So… what…” Cara spoke up, “Are you saying Mando here had a premonition?”

The Healer turned to address her, “Not a premonition, no, no. It was a meeting. Yes, yes, the Mandalorian, through the connection he shares with the child, had a meeting with the thing that seeks to claim the child’s secrets as its own.”

Looking back at Din, the Sullustan continued, “The image of the child asleep among the evil of the darkness speaks of the naivety of the child. Yes, yes, of his innocence. He knows the darkness is out there, and he can feel it. Yes, it bothers the child, but he does not yet understand of its evil—” The Healer touched the handle of his cane to Din’s shoulder, “—but you do. You are a Mandalorian warrior. You have seen and conquered such evils in your lifetime. Your eyes are open and aware. Through your connection with the child, you experienced the evil that seeks the child and felt what it truly wants.”

The kid in his lap trilled through a squeal of spit bubbles as he dumped out the buttons again. Din held his palm open as he was handed one button at a time. The Healer watched the child, saying, “Yes, yes, the darkness and the slumbering child was not a dream. It was a warning.” Looking back at Din, he said, “You know this darkness. You have already faced it once. You will face it again soon.”

Cara looked at Din, “Moff Giddeon.”

Din shook his head. “He’s dead.”

“No, no, no, Mandalorian. The same darkness that almost extinguished your light that day is not gone.” Cara and Din both looked back at him, and he said, “He lives.”

“How—how did you know about that day?” asked Din.

Reaching down to stroke the child’s head, the Sullustan spoke fondly, “I am an empath, yes; as is the child. It shared with me its joys and its fears and its sorrows. That day was filled with all these emotions so greatly felt within such a short amount of time. Yes, yes, that day shines hot and bright for the child.” He looked at Din, “Do not underestimate the place you have within the child’s heart, for that holds a great power unto itself.”

Din gave the Healer a nod of understanding.

The room grew quiet until the babe on Din’s lap looked up at him and spoke to him with a long string of baby babble. Looking down at the babe, Din gave it his complete attention, and then said, “I completely agree.”

The Healer chuckled, and Zel pushed himself off the table, saying, “We should head out.”

“There is no rush, old friend,” the Healer told Zel.

“No,” Din interjected, “he’s right. It’s time to go.”

“Yes, yes, if you must. But first,” the Healer stood with the same weary groan, “Let Dwilluu get together a few things before you leave.”

Din watched him shuffle off and then he started picking up the remaining scattered buttons from his lap.

“Eh?” the child asked. Hands spread wide, he was looking between Din and the buttons and was clearly confused as the rules of their game changed without notice.

Din smirked, “Sorry, little guy. Time to pick up.” He pulled on the strings to the bag, cinching it closed. He started handing it back but stopped before the child’s little hands could reach it. Pulling it back just a touch, he said, “Keep it closed, okay? No more dumping.” The child reached for it again and Din said, “It’s not ours. We need to give it back now. Okay?”

The kid’s ears dropped in disappointment, and Din took a chance in placing it back in his hands. “You can give it to the Healer when he comes back.”

Grumbling, the kid slid off his lap, and Din shook his head, telling Cara as she scooped up the babe, “Do not let him dump those out again.”

“On it, Boss,” was her roughish reply. Holding the child close, she twirled in a tight circle, making him squeal and forget all about his ruined game of buttons.

Pushing the blankets off him, Din closed the catches to his flak vest and then accepted the offered hand Zel held out. Between his injured knee and raw insides, getting off the floor and to his feet took a bit of coordination between the two warriors, and Din tried not to grouse when Zel needed to use both arms to help him up.

Steadying him, Zel asked, “Can you walk?”

“I’m not sure,” he replied with honesty.

Testing out his injured knee came back with some disheartening results. After only a few moves, it locked up on him mid-step, and pain flared jagged and hot. Thrown off balance as his knee buckled, a strained grunt pulled from his throat as he stumbled against the Mandalorian at his side.

Cara set the child down as Zel grabbed him. Din was pulled a couple of steps over to the table to sit as the Healer bustled back into the room with his arms full, saying, “No, no, no, dear boy. You mustn’t make the joint work yet. It needs rest.”

Dumping his armload onto an unsuspecting Cara who stumbled back out of surprise, the Healer went over to Din with a brace in his hand. “Pull up your pant leg, let Dwilluu see the joint.”

Din did as he was instructed, watching as the Healer palmed either side of his knee and then moved his hands to hold the back and just above the joint. Closing his eyes, he nodded, then looked at the leg as he straightened it and then manipulated the knee into a slightly bent position. Slapping the brace on, he pushed a couple of buttons on the side, and the brace shrunk down tight enough to be a second skin, but not so tight that it compromised his circulation.

“It must stay in place for one week. Yes, yes, I have programmed it for one week. It will not come off before.”

“Wait.” Din looked at his knee and then back to the Healer, “This thing won’t come off for a week?”

“Yes, yes. One week. Get it wet, do your normal routine, it will not matter.”

Din shook his head, “This won’t work for me. I can hardly walk with my leg fixed in this position.”

“Yes, yes, that is good.”

“No, you don’t understand…Hey—” Din complained as a pair of crutches were shoved at him and his pant leg was pulled back down. 

The Healer stood and looked at him, “You want to heal, yes?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“You want to regain full function of the joint?”

Din sighed, “Yes.”

The Healer smiled, “Then Dwilluu understands.” He put a hand on Din’s shoulder, “One week.”

Din’s lips thinned in defeat, but he didn’t object further, other than to say, “I can’t pay you for this,” and gestured at the brace beneath his pants.

“I can.”

Din looked at Zel, “No.”

“It’s my fault you need it in the first place. I’ll buy it.”

“I said, no.”

“You need it.”

“I’ll think of something.”

“You’re more stubborn than a falumpaset; you know that?”

The child watched the conversation volley back and forth between the two Mandalorians until the Sullustan spoke over them both, shouting and waving his hands at them, “No, no, no, stop it. Dwilluu does not need payment. The Mandalorian will come back in a week for a recheck. I will take it back then.”

“What?” Din all but squawked, “You want me to come all the way back here?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” he nodded, picking up the child pawing at his leg, “Come back in one week and let Dwilluu see your recovery. Then I will put in the unlock code.”

Closing his eyes, Din tipped his head back with a sound of exasperation. Nothing was going his way. Healing took so _long_. It always came as a major hassle, and he’d never had the patience for recuperating as ordered.

Beside him, Zel’s laughter boomed, “Give up the fight, brother. Dwilluu has dealt with stubborn warriors longer than you’ve been alive. He’s very good at it.”

“Yes, yes. Many stubborn warriors, indeed.” The healer chuckled, jabbing Zel with his cane.

“Fine.” Din looked at the Healer and gave him a nod, “Thank you. Your skills are invaluable, and I am humbled by your generosity and wisdom. I’ll come back and repay you when I am able.”

“No, no, no. Dwilluu does not require any credits,” The Healer said, as he deposited the child into Din’s arms, “Just take care of this little one. Protect him. Keep him safe.”

Din swallowed past a touch of emotion before replying, “I will.”

“And, come back and see old Dwilluu sometime, if you are near.”

Smiling, Din nodded, “I will.”

* * *

Settling into the pilot’s seat, Din sighed. He was sore and tired. It had been a long day. They’d only just gotten back and had seen Zel off. They’d offered the Mandalorian a ride back to Batuu, but he’d declined, saying he had other business to take care of before he was ready to go off-planet and back to his ship. Before leaving to go on his way, he’d shook Cara’s hand and then clapped Din on the shoulder, telling him to contact him anytime. Especially if he and the kid found themselves in the hot seat.

It had been a solid offer, and Din had given Zel his word that he would do just that if the situation arose. Knowing one of his favorite mentors had his back, made the mission he was on seem just a little bit more obtainable.

Din was firing up the engines as he completed the preflight checks when Cara walked into the cockpit. “So,” she said, leaning against the panel to his left, “Where to?”

Din thought, “I’m not sure.”

“You just want to hang around here for a week?”

“No. No, I do not.”

Cara laughed. She looked at the sleeping child strapped into the seat behind Din. He was sucking on a finger as he clutched his new bag of buttons, gifted to him by the Healer. She got an idea.

“Why not Sorgan?”

Reaching for a switch to his right, he froze. “What?”

“Yeah,” She pushed off the panel and stood next to him, “Sorgan sounds nice. You could let that kind, pretty widow nurse you back to health—”

Din rolled his eyes and flipped the switch.

“—and the kid would love to see Winta again.”

He looked over his shoulder at the child, saying, “He would.”

“So, let’s go. How far is it?”

Din pulled up the Nav system and put in the coordinates for Sorgan. “Close to twelve hours by hyperspace.”

“Well, that’s doable.”

Din considered the idea. “All right…” he stated on an exhale. “Sorgan it is.”

The End

(…sort of)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank you guys enough for such an awesome and kind welcome into the fandom. I can't believe this story is now complete. I had so much fun writing it, I'm considering doing a little side story of them in Sorgan. We'll see. :) Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed the conclusion.


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